


Stuck with You

by aohatsu



Series: we have learned the footsteps [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: December - Freeform, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23801290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: In December, Tony doesn't hang the mistletoe.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: we have learned the footsteps [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713436
Comments: 16
Kudos: 172
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	Stuck with You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).



The party is in full swing.

It isn’t as crazy as it could have been. Tony is used to throwing quite the shindig, pulling out all the stops: wine, champagne, gifts, fireworks, music. This small Christmas party he’s hosting at the compound this year is, well, just that. Small.

The Avengers are their families were invited, a few Stark Industries employees, a few people from S.H.I.E.L.D., not Tony’s choice, but Steve has something going with Aunt Peggy’s niece, as he understands it, not that he’s bothered to poke his nose into the captain’s social life these days.

Bruce and Natasha are still dancing around one another, but it seems like that ship might have sailed. Betty Ross is in the room, over by the bar with Helen Cho and Hope van Dyne, and Bruce keeps tripping over nothing when he sees her. Thankfully, Thaddeus Ross wasn’t invited, though Tony wasn’t able to keep him off the guest list for the New Year’s Eve shindig happening a week from now.

Something about schmoozing, he thinks. He’d been mostly ignoring Pepper when she’d told him.

It’d only been a week since the disastrous Macy’s Day parade at the time, and Tony hadn’t gotten more than twelve hours of sleep collectively since then. He hadn’t, admittedly, been at his best when Pepper had called.

It would help, he thought, if he knew what he was doing wrong—how he manages to keep fucking things up quite so spectacularly when it comes to Peter. Oh, it’s great in the moment. He’s had more dreams than he can count about the sounds that come out of the kid’s mouth, the way his skin flushes pink, and then deeper red with arousal when Tony touches him. His lean, lithe muscles quivering under Tony’s fingers.

But he’s fucking up.

The kid is eighteen, fresh at Columbia, full of potential. He’s honest, kind, intelligent, and so damn passionate about doing good for the people around him, people he doesn’t even know. People like Tony, who sure as hell doesn’t deserve Peter’s goodwill and kindness, let alone the trust and respect that kid has for him. He has a future ahead of him, and somehow, Tony has managed to put the kid in four separate situations that let Tony take advantage of him. There was every excuse, of course—accidental aphrodisiacs, crazy egg-worshiping aliens, evil villains—but at the end of the day, the kid’s been forced on his back and to his knees, and Tony’s been allowed to touch him when otherwise Peter would have never—

Peter would never have wanted it to happen.

But Tony has had his cock buried deep inside Peter; has had sweat slick skin sliding against his own.

Has had a soft, wet mouth wrapped around his cock; has been allowed to see Peter choke and swallow past the tears in his eyes, come and saliva dripping down his chin, eyes glazed over with arousal.

Has heard the words, _Mr. Stark, please fuck me_ , _please_ come out of that same sweet mouth.

Fuck, what is _wrong_ with him?

Sure, you couldn’t call it rape—his grip around his glass tightens and he closes his eyes, guilt and bile rising in his chest as he even thinks it—but it wasn’t exactly consensual, was it?

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Tony is—

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony comes back to his senses.

Christ, he’s in the middle of a party. What is he thinking about this shit for?

He turns away from the window where he’d been staring at his own demons in the reflection for the past few minutes. Peter is standing there, wearing a cheap vest over a white button-down and jeans that fit perfectly what with Tony having been the one who’d bought them for him, one item out of dozens he’d had F.R.I.D.A.Y. order from an expensive boutique in Malibu for the kid’s birthday.

Which was when all of this shit started, thanks to Thor, who, despite apologizing profusely the next morning when Tony had read him the riot act, is still drinking the damn stuff over there where he’s currently surrounded by his fans.

“Hey, kid,” he says, keeping his face smooth. “What’s up?”

Peter runs a hand through his hair, messing up his curls. “Uh, I was thinking—could we go down to the lab for a minute? I had this idea for the engine in the spider-cycle…”

The spider-cycle being the working name for Peter’s motorcycle project he’s been working on-and-off for the past few months. He’ll never need it; a motorcycle will never replace the speed and convenience of Peter’s web shooters, but it is, Tony admits, a very _fun_ project. Tony has a number of cars he likes to work on himself when he’s in the mood for some mindless tinkering.

“Yeah,” he answers, and starts heading for the elevator, kid falling into step right next to him. “What’s your plan? If it has anything to do with adding your webbing to the gearshifts again—”

“I still think that could work! Well, maybe not in the gearshifts,” Peter trails off, and they talk about the spider-cycle (and how not to improve it) all the way down to the lab. The cycle is in the corner—Tony will have it moved to the garage once it’s in working order, but it’s not quite there yet. The kid tends to work on it for a few hours every weekend visit, but it’s a bit of an ambitious project seeing as Tony’s refusing to do anything for him besides act as a soundboard.

Tony should have known sneaking off with Peter to the lab to mess with engine schematics was going to end in disaster. Three steps out of the elevator, Tony comes to a screeching halt—specifically, his body lunges forward when he tries to take a fourth step and his foot won’t lift up off the ground.

“What the fuck,” he yells, startled, arms pinwheeling to keep from an awkward fall.

Peter squeaks when he smacks into Tony’s back, somehow grabbing onto Tony’s shoulders to keep from falling himself, though he seems to have done an awkward spinning movement reminiscent of a ballet routine to end up more-or-less in front of Tony rather than behind him. They’re still awkwardly placed, Tony’s chest to Peter’s side, and Peter half-turning to look around the lab.

“What’s going on?”

“I have no idea. F.R.I.?”

“Boss,” comes F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice with a thread of audible humor in it, “it seems as though you and Peter have become stuck underneath a sprig of mistletoe.”

Tony pauses, and then he and the kid are both looking up together. F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s right, obviously—but how did mistletoe get into his lab without him putting it there, and more importantly—

“Why does that mean we can’t move?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers, “There are several open cases in New York City of mistletoe that requires those who get stuck underneath it to copulate before they’re able to move again.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. F.R.I.D.A.Y. continues, “It appears to be the work of a magician that the NYPD have been tracking for some time now. Should I contact Doctor Strange for assistance?”

Strange is four floors up with every other Avenger.

“Um, no,” Peter answers, voice high and strangled. “I don’t think—Right, Mr. Stark? We can just—Aunt May is upstairs is the thing, and I don’t want her to… uh, to know that we’re, you know.”

“How are we supposed to _copulate_ when we can’t move our feet, F.R.I.?”

“Police reports indicate that only the release of one individual seems to be required for the spell to loosen its hold. Stimulating either of your—”

“Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.!” Peter yells, the tips of his ears having gone red.

Tony drags a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Why does this keep happening? Better yet— _how_ does it keep happening?

More importantly, how many more times can it happen before Peter comes to his senses and resents Tony for letting it happen? Before he cuts Tony out of his life?

Peter’s flushed, now, looking at him. There’s at least a tiny bit of idolization still there—a lingering crush on a heroic superhero, one who Peter had put on a pedestal long before he’d ever gotten to meet the _real_ Tony Stark.

What’s going to happen when Peter realizes Tony doesn’t deserve it? That’s he’s selfish, greedy, keeping Peter so close to him when Tony’s bound to screw him up, to make a mistake that can’t be fixed. That he’ll hurt the kid, whether he means to or not.

He should tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to get Strange—anybody. There has to be something one of them can do to get rid of the cursed mistletoe that doesn’t involve Tony holding still as Peter undoes the buckle on his jeans, pulls the zipper down carefully, like he wants to make sure it doesn’t catch on anything.

He’s already half-hard, his cock chubbing up just at the idea of being with Peter like this again. Peter’s fingers are long, smooth and they wrap around him gently at first, then tighter. The guilt should be overwhelming, but the minute Peter touches him it’s as if his brain clicks mute and he can’t bother listening to his own self-aggrandizing anymore. 

Tony swallows, his throat bobbing as he opens his eyes to watch as Peter slowly jerks him off, here in his own lab, the one place he’s never brought any of his dates with the exception of Pepper before they’d given up on making it work.

It’s dry, and it’s uncomfortable, but it feels great anyway. Tony leans forward, close enough to touch his forehead to the kid’s, making Peter’s breath hitch and stutter. He falters, for a moment, where he’s jerking Tony’s cock to full hardness, before he starts up again.

Tony runs a hand through his hair. It’s a little sticky, like he’d tried to tame it using gel, and Tony smiles at the thought of Peter getting all gussied up for the party in front of the little mirror in the bathroom of his aunt’s apartment. He bites his lip and bites off a groan when Peter rubs a thumb inexpertly over the head of Tony’s dick. It feels distinctively practiced, and Peter is glancing at him expectantly—it must be something he does to himself while he’s jerking off.

The thought of that is—

 _Fuck_. It’s good.

Tony can see the bulge in his jeans where the kid is getting hard himself just from how he’s getting Tony off. Well, it’s only fair. He listens to Peter’s gasp followed by his deep moan as Tony unsnaps the button on his jeans and pushes his hand inside to take hold of Peter’s cock.

It’s awkward with the way they’re standing. Peter can’t keep up an even rhythm with his hand, faltering as he’s overwhelmed, clearly struggling to keep still. His entire body is trembling beneath Tony’s touch. He keeps stuttering, “Sorry,” under his breath every time he catches his hand slowing down or stopping. Tony is too busy watching his face to complain, mouth hanging open and eyes dark, pupils blown wide, skin flushed pink.

He’s pushing into Tony’s hand, tiny little jerky movements he clearly can’t stop.

“Mr. Stark, I—”

“Are you going to come, kid?”

Peter groans. His cock is wet with pre-come, making the slide of Tony’s hand quicker, faster. Tony increases the pressure, just enough to have Peter gasping and clinging to him, hips fucking forward.

“We haven’t got all night, kid,” Tony mutters against Peter’s ear, and it isn’t true—Tony would stay here like this all night if Peter wanted him to.

Peter shakes under him, turning his face down as he pants against Tony’s neck. One more pump of Tony’s hand, two more—and there it is, Peter letting out a choked sob against Tony’s neck as he tries to fuck into Tony’s hand, coming so quick, so easy, just from a little hand job.

Tony loves him.

He steps backward, his feet suddenly unlocked from where the damn mistletoe had locked him to the floor. Peter follows him, but Tony swallows and turns around. Christ. “Alright, Pete, show me what you’ve got. Engine, yeah? We thinking a build from the ground up, or re-purposing a Harley? Yamaha? Something else?”

“I—I don’t—I think, re-purposing, probably.”

“Good. Great. Let’s take a look.”

“Mr. Stark? Are you—I mean, I can—”

“Nah, kid.” He doesn’t look at Peter. Keeps his eyes on Dum-E, who has come zooming over excitedly, tinsel hanging from his claw by a piece of tape. “I’m fine. Let’s just get to work before somebody comes looking for us, alright?”

It takes a long, measured moment before Peter, voice clear and frustrated, says, “No.”

Tony turns to look at him. “What?”

“I just—that’s not fair,” he says, his voice almost but not quite breaking on the last word. “You’re—I was _trying_ , it’s just, you’re—”

“Kid.”

“You’re _you_ , you know? And I’m stupid, but I wanted—and it’s not fair that I got off and you didn’t when we were both stuck and now you’re, you know.” He gestures indiscreetly at Tony’s lower half.

“Pete.”

“I mean, unless you just don’t want to because you don’t think I’m—if you’re not even, um, attracted to me, or effected or whatever, except you are because I’m not _that_ stupid, I can see you’re hard and that’s not even counting the fact that I was touching your dick a minute ago—"

“ _Peter_!” Tony yells, and Peter closes his mouth, snapping his eyes to the ground.

Dum-E pokes Tony in the shoulder with a questioning chirp, and he pushes past the bot to take a step closer to Peter. “Pete, come on, look at me.” 

Peter does, his eyes rimmed red though he isn’t crying.

 _Fuck_ , he’s such an _asshole_.

“If you want to, then okay. I just don’t want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with, kid.”

He moves to sit down the couch he keeps down here, usually for the purpose of lab binges where he passes out for forty-minute naps instead of going back up to find a real bed. He spreads his legs wide, his cock indecently and visibly hard through his slacks.

He’s been thinking about this wrong. He’s _Tony Stark_ , a billionaire inventor, engineer, superhero. The kid’s had an ill-decided crush on him since he really _was_ a kid. Maybe Peter will actually laugh and tell the story, years from now, about losing his virginity to Iron Man.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Peter denies. “And I’m not a kid. I’m eighteen, and I’m an Avenger, and I’m not as experienced as you are, maybe, but I’m not afraid of sex, Mr. Stark. I’m—” Finally, he stops talking, his face flushing red all the way to the tips of his ears again.

If Peter wants to think of this as a part of the job—dealing with aliens and magic and engineered plant pollen all a daily deal for the Avengers—then Tony can let him think that. It’s not even technically untrue.

“Not afraid of sex, huh? Then get over here.” Tony hopes the kid has at least had the chance to make it to third base with some kid his own age at Columbia by now. (At the same time, he hopes he hasn’t; the thought of it makes his chest tighten painfully.)

Peter scrambles over to the couch, climbing right into Tony’s lap like he thinks if he takes too long, Tony might change his mind. He _should_ change his mind. Tony is still fucking this all up—hell, everything he does seems to fuck things up lately—but if he can make it even slightly easier for Peter to deal with, then he has to do it. If that means letting Peter get him off because it’s _fair_ , then fine.

He leans back against the couch, lifting his hands to settle on Peter’s hips. He hasn’t softened at all, or at least not that Peter should be able to tell since having the boy climb right up on his lap has more than made up for any lost progress.

Sliding his hands down Peter’s body, he finally digs his fingers into the meat of Peter’s thighs, urging him on with a short upward thrust that lines their cocks up perfectly.

Peter lets out a soft, breathless _ah_ before he visibly steels himself and tenses his thighs, rolling his hips and putting his hands up on the couch behind Tony’s head for purchase. He rolls his hips again—and again—and again, a smooth tantalizing motion that was designed to drive Tony insane.

“Is this—okay?” Peter asks, voice heavy.

Tony rocks up to meet him. “Yeah, kid, fuck. More than okay.”

Peter smiles, sudden and brilliant. Tony brings a hand up to the arch of Peter’s back and uses his position to push up harder. Peter loses another breathless sound to the room, a choked off gasp. Tony embraces the warmth of Peter’s skin, the weight of his body on top of his own. He’s almost there.

“Pete, hey,” he says, and lifts a hand to catch Peter’s chin.

Tony drags his face down the short few inches between them and presses their mouths together. It’s a wet, fumbling kiss, both of them panting and uncoordinated as they race towards orgasm, the only thing to get them there being the friction of each other’s bodies and the heat of their hands and mouths.

And at least in Tony’s case, the knowledge that it’s Peter on top of him, rocking against him. 

Tony holds himself still when he comes, breathing harshly against Peter’s chin, holding him so tightly that there might be bruises left over at least for an hour or two that they’ll have to hide from any of the other guests upstairs when they see them again.

Peter’s eyes are blown wide, and it hardly takes another few thrusts for him to come, cursing long and loud into the lab, unable to stop the way his hips keep twitching both throughout and after.

They just sit there for a moment, catching their breath and coming back to their senses.

Tony glances toward the elevator doors, thankfully still shut. Rhodey or Pepper or, God forbid, _Peter’s aunt_ , could have come down looking for the two of them at any moment. 

Peter eventually moves off of his lap, collapsing bonelessly onto the couch next to him, still close enough that their bodies are touching. Both of them have wet, sticky messes in their pants from rutting against each other like high schoolers at a party.

Tony can see the irony in that, yes.

If only this was that simple. It’s not like the kid’s going to suddenly go from _It’s just sex, might as well enjoy it_ to _Tony, do you want to go steady with me?_

Tony laughs, rubbing at his eyes. He’ll have to sneak the kid upstairs to find a new pair of jeans and get a new pair of slacks for himself while he’s at it. If they’re lucky, nobody will notice or question it. If they’re not, they can claim Dum-E spilled oil all over them—it wouldn’t be the first time.

The truth is, if Peter asked him, he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

If Peter asked him for anything, he’d say yes.

He’d give Peter the world, if the kid would just ask him.

**Author's Note:**

> Part six coming soon!


End file.
